


(doesn't mean that) Everything is Written For Me

by fandomlver, wildforce71



Series: Powers 'Verse [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, I take prompts, These are AUs, They're basically just for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildforce71/pseuds/wildforce71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Just because I find myself in this story, it doesn't mean that everything is written for me. If I think the ending is fixed already, I might as well be saying, I think that it's ok. And that's not right...</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>AUs set in the Powers 'verse. Assume that anything that happened in the main fic carries over, but not vice versa. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Louis, pt 1

"Your Majesty, come down!"

"Shan't!"

"We have to go!"

"Shan't!"

An apple bounced off Athos' hat and he turned away from the tree, scowling. "d'Artagnan, go up after him."

"Me?" d'Artagnan protested.

"You're the lightest of us, you'll get up the easiest."

"And you like trees," Porthos added.

"Trees, yes. This isn't exactly a tree." d'Artagnan shook the mass of ivy uncertainly. Stretched between the tree and the wall, it seemed solid enough, but he knew from experience how deceptive ivy could be.

"The wall is solid," Aramis offered. "You'll mostly be climbing it, not the ivy."

"That makes it much better, thank you, Aramis."

"I aim to please."

Porthos started to answer, caught Athos' look, and subsided.

"Thank you," Athos said pointedly. "d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan sighed, stripping off his weapons belt and jerkin, shoving them at Porthos. Athos linked his fingers and d'Artagnan stepped into the cradle, pushing off and catching at the ivy above his head.

The others watched warily as he climbed nimbly upwards, testing each grip before moving, drawing closer to the top. "Please don't move, your majesty," he called as he came within reach. 

Louis scowled at him, one hand gripping his breeches tightly. "Not going down."

"I'm afraid you are."

"You can't touch me! I'm the king!"

"You are the king. And you're coming down, because it's going to rain soon, and you don't really want to be up here in the rain, do you?" Louis peered uncertainly upwards, and d'Artagnan added, "It'll be dark, too."

"I'm not scared," Louis said firmly.

"I know you're not," d'Artagnan agreed. "You remember that, don't you? I know you aren't scared."

"Yes, I remember," Louis mumbled. "Where are we going?"

"We're near to la Fere. We're going there, for now."

"la Fere burnt down."

"Athos had it rebuilt." He shifted slightly; he didn't like keeping his weight in the same place for too long, wary of the ivy tearing or the wall or tree collapsing. "Are you ready?"

Louis peered down, paled, and closed his eyes. "I don't know how."

d'Artagnan glanced down. They weren't really that high up at all, but it probably looked further to Louis. "Can you turn around, your majesty? Don't move up or down, just turn." Louis obeyed, with a lot of shuffling and false starts, and d'Artagnan nodded encouragingly. "Good. I'm going to touch your ankle, all right?"

"Why?" Louis demanded suspiciously.

"So I can guide your feet. You won't need to look, just step where I tell you. All right?" He gripped one ankle lightly, tugging very gently. Louis was still suspicious, but he moved with the tug, and d'Artagnan moved him to the next foothold. "Got it? Good. Other ankle now."

It took far longer than it should have, but eventually d'Artagnan felt Athos catch at his belt, and a moment later Aramis reached past him to retrieve Louis. “Who’s that?” 

“Aramis,” d'Artagnan told him, and then had to scrabble to catch him as he pulled away. “Hey!”

“Don’t touch me!” Louis shouted. “Aramis, get away!”

“He’s right,” Athos said calmly, steadying d'Artagnan. “Safer if you don’t, Aramis.”

“He’s not injured,” d'Artagnan protested breathlessly, struggling to hold Louis steady. “Your majesty, stop!”

“He’s not right either. Aramis, take a step away. Let’s not risk it.”

Aramis obeyed, and Porthos leaned in to help Louis down. d'Artagnan sagged for a moment before gathering himself, letting himself drop the last few feet. He landed easily and Athos steadied him briefly before stepping away.

"Have you hurt yourself, your majesty?"

"No," Louis muttered.

"That was dangerous."

"I can't go back to court!"

"We aren't going to court," Athos promised. "Aramis and Porthos are going after the person who did this, and d'Artagnan and I will escort you to la Fere, until we know what's happening. You'll be safe."

Louis scowled. "I'm six years old."

"And safe. I promise. Just – no more climbing walls, your majesty?"

"No more walls," Louis said with a sigh.

"Good. You ride with me. Let's go."

 

It was one of the more unusual Abilities Athos had ever come across. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, exactly. Louis still seemed to have his memories – mostly – but he was certainly _acting_ like a child. After the fourth time he tried to grab the reins, Athos handed him off to d'Artagnan and rode ahead to open up the house.

It wasn’t as strange, coming back this time. He’d deliberately had the house rebuilt in a completely different style, so the memories weren’t quite so overwhelming. The grounds were still being kept, so his manager hadn’t run off with the money.

d'Artagnan was leading the horse when they arrived, Louis sitting tall and occasionally shouting “Hah!” d'Artagnan shrugged at Athos’ look, leading the horse off towards the stables.

Louis reappeared a moment later, looking suspiciously over his shoulder before turning to study Athos. “This is la Fere?”

“This is it,” Athos agreed. “I’m afraid it’s still rather shut up, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“Where’s your staff?”

“I don’t keep a staff, I’m not here often enough. I have an estate manager who makes sure it’s maintained.”

Louis stared at him. “But how will we manage?”

“We’ll be fine,” Athos assured him.

“Who will cook?”

“d'Artagnan will. He’s quite good.”

“And who will clean up afterwards?”

“Well, if he cooks, I suppose I will clean up.”

“You’re a _Comte_!”

“I’m a Musketeer. And even Comtes, your majesty, can clean dishes.”

d'Artagnan reappeared, carrying the saddlebags. “Something wrong?” he asked, looking from Athos to Louis and back.

“Who will help me prepare for bed?” Louis demanded.

“One of us will,” Athos said patiently. “You can choose.”

“What if you’re not any good at it?”

“We have both managed to get ourselves ready for bed for many years now.”

“You’re not the king!”

“Why don’t we go inside?” d'Artagnan said quickly. “I haven’t been here since it was rebuilt. Let’s look around.”

“Yes, why don’t you,” Athos agreed dryly. d'Artagnan passed him the saddlebags and ushered Louis towards the door.

Athos took a deep breath, silently urged Aramis and Porthos to hurry, and followed them in.

 

“He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Aramis was silent, and Porthos sighed. “Look, maybe it would affect you, maybe it wouldn’t. Athos is right, it’s stupid to risk it when we don’t need to.”

“Maybe I could have helped.”

“Maybe it would have caught you too, and we’d be wrangling two kids. Or, maybe you couldn’t have helped, and you’d be hurting now.”

“Wrangling?” Aramis demanded. “You think I needed wrangling?”

“I think you’d be sweet talking all the pretty ladies even more than you do now. I’m not risking it.” He glanced at Aramis. “The King trusts you, you know that.”

“Not enough to Heal him,” Aramis muttered. “I don’t mean now,” he added before Porthos could speak. “I mean – ever.”

“He’s the King. If he sees proof of Ability he’s got to condemn it. You know that.”

Aramis rolled his eyes. “Stop telling me what I know.”

“Stop pretending you don’t know it,” Porthos said calmly.

A figure broke from the undergrowth, almost under Porthos’ horse, and darted across the path and into the trees on the other side. Aramis waited a heartbeat, long enough to be sure Porthos wasn’t going to fall, before sliding off his horse to give chase. The figure was wrapped in a cloak, but it looked like a child – though, Aramis thought grimly, that didn’t seem to mean anything lately – and clearly knew where he or she was going. Aramis followed as closely as possible, concentrating on not getting caught up in the undergrowth.

He could hear Porthos behind him by the time he was close enough to lay a hand on the figure. Both of them came crashing down and Porthos arrived a moment later, just in time to latch onto the figure as it tried to wriggle away.

“Ow,” Aramis complained.

“What’s wrong?”

“I landed on a root. Or a boot, maybe. Ow.” He poked his rib gingerly.

“You going to stop trying to get away?” Porthos asked. He must have gotten a response, because he let go, sitting back on his heels. “Aramis?”

“Fine,” Aramis assured him, letting go of his side. “Just lost my breath for a minute.” He shifted slightly, studying the cloak wrapped figure crouching in front of them. “Now. You are?”

The figure shifted, mumbling something very quietly. Aramis glanced at Porthos, who shook his head; he hadn’t heard it either.

“Right,” Aramis said, mostly to himself. Moving very slowly and carefully, he reached for the cloak’s hood, pulling it down to reveal a young girl blinking fearfully at him. “Let’s try that again,” he suggested. “Your name, mademoiselle?”

“Céline,” she squeaked.

“Céline,” Aramis repeated, smiling gently. “Why did you run away from us, Céline?”

Céline looked from him to Porthos and back, and Porthos suggested, “You were afraid?”

“Ys,” Céline agreed.

Aramis considered her for a moment. She was only a little older than Louis was now. “Céline, we’re out here because one of our friends was –“

He floundered for a moment, unsure of what to say, and Porthos offered “Changed.”

“Changed, thank you, by someone around here. Now, we’re not trying to get anyone into trouble, we won’t be making any accusations, we just want to know how to help our friend. Do you know anyone who might be able to help us?”

“No,” Céline said, startlingly high pitched.

Porthos caught Aramis’ eye, rubbing his wrist. Aramis looked down; there was a long red scratch on Céline’s wrist, just visible where she was clutching her cloak. He glanced back at Porthos before nodding, pulling his glove off. “Céline, may I look at your arm?”

“Why?” Céline demanded.

“Because it looks like it hurts, and I can help with that.”

“Are you a ditch witch?”

He smiled at the term, reaching for her arm. “Something like that.”

“What’s a ditch witch?” Porthos demanded.

“A country herbalist,” Aramis said absently, feeling carefully for the edges of the scratch. It had to hurt, but it wasn’t deep or long enough to be dangerous. He started soothing the pain, working to heal the scratch from each end. “The type who don’t really exist.”

“Ah, that type,” Porthos agreed. “I know that kind.”

“No you don’t, they don’t exist.”

“They didn’t exist all over the Court of Miracles, either.”

The scratch had almost entirely faded away, only a thin pink line left. Aramis stopped there; if he pushed much further, he’d be too worn out to be any use, and there’d be no pain any more if he left it like that. Céline was staring at her arm as though she’d never seen it before. Aramis touched her chin lightly, urging her eyes up to his.

“We don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said gently. “Only to help our friend. Can you help us?”

“She didn’t mean to,” Céline blurted.

“Who didn’t mean to?” he asked.

“Adela.”

“Who’s Adela?” Porthos asked.

Céline squirmed uncomfortably. “She lives in the village, and she isn’t – clever. Everyone knows not to let her touch them. She really didn’t mean to, monsieur, she just doesn’t know.”

“That’s all right,” Aramis promised, glancing up to meet Porthos’ eyes. “When she does touch someone, what happens?”

“It’s always different, and it always goes away in a few days,” Céline said promptly.

“It goes away on its’ own? You don’t need to do anything?” Porthos checked.

“No, it goes on its’ own.” She looked from Aramis to Porthos and back. “She’s not in trouble, is she, monsieur? I promise she didn’t mean to do anything.”

“She’s not in trouble,” Aramis promised. “Is Adela a grown up lady, Céline?”

“Yes. She lives in the inn and the innkeeper’s wife looks after her.”

Aramis glanced at Porthos; they’d stopped, briefly, at the inn, and he did vaguely remember d'Artagnan telling him that the waitress had tripped and knocked against Louis. She’d been hustled away before Louis could really respond. “Céline, can you show me the inn? I _promise_ Adela’s not in trouble. I won’t even talk to her. Just to the lady who looks after her.”

Céline nodded, rising to her feet and turning back towards the town. Porthos tapped Aramis’ arm, murmuring “What are you doing?”

“She might be like me, skin contact. If so, she can be taught to control it.”

“Sounds like she’s soft in the head.”

“It doesn’t matter, she can learn to wear gloves. Let’s try, anyway.”

“What if it’s not like you?”

Aramis shrugged. “Her keeper will have to be more careful with her. If this were anyone but Louis…”

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed softly. They both knew what most people would do if confronted by an Ability.

They followed Céline through the trees.

 

d'Artagnan found Aramis and Porthos in the stable before they'd done more than dismount. "Good, you're here."

"Is something wrong?" Aramis asked, untacking his horse as quickly as he could.

"No, not wrong, just – Athos isn't very good with children."

"Athos isn't very good with anyone," Porthos reminded him.

"I know, but he's really bad with children. And the king is playing up deliberately. There's only so much I can do."

"How are you managing?" Aramis asked, studying him briefly.

d'Artagnan shrugged. "Children are – loud. And he’s strange, it's like there's an echo of his grown up self in there as well. I'm all right, but I can't stay with him all the time."

"Good thing we're here, then," Porthos said cheerfully.

"What did you find out?"

"It'll clear on its' own in a few days. The serving wench at the inn, do you remember?"

d'Artagnan nodded. "I remember. She was – almost like a child, herself."

"The village know how to handle her, they just didn't realise she was serving us until too late. Aramis talked to her keeper, they're going to keep her in gloves when there's outsiders around."

"There was no malice in her. There was nothing much in her at all." Something crashed inside the house, and d'Artagnan sighed. "Athos is trying his hand at being a valet, to try and get the king to rest. I don't think it's going very well."

" _Athos_ is trying to be a valet?" Aramis sighed. "d'Artagnan, why don't you finish with the horses, and we'll go and rescue Athos. Take your time."

"You can't touch him," d'Artagnan reminded him.

"I know. We'll manage." He patted d'Artagnan's shoulder, heading for the house.

d'Artagnan took his time with the horses, being thorough. There were no more crashes, and no shouting – at least, nothing that carried from the house out to the stable. He concentrated on the work, focusing on it, letting it centre him and draw him back to himself.

Porthos was in the kitchen, studying the pantry. "We'll have to lay in supplies," he announced. "There's nothing here."

"Well, no one lives here." d'Artagnan settled into a chair, glancing upstairs. "How are they doing?"

"They got Louis out of his clothes and into a nightshirt. I think that's about as far as they've got."

"That seems about right," d'Artagnan agreed, head tilted as he tracked them. The king was tired, and determined to hide it; Athos was rapidly reaching the end of his patience, and Aramis was frustrated and hiding it under good humour. "Aramis won't touch him?"

"Nah, he knows it's not worth it." Porthos eyed him. "You getting something?"

d'Artagnan shook his head absently. "He's frustrated."

"It gets hard for him, sometimes," Porthos agreed.

Both looked around at hoof beats outside. d'Artagnan pushed to his feet, frowning. “No malice, no anger – I don’t think there’s any danger.”

“Anything else?”

“Curiosity, mostly.”

Porthos crossed to the door, leaning against the frame. “Who goes?” he called, keeping his voice light.

The man outside dismounted, stepping close enough to be seen in the light from the kitchen. “My name is Mikael,” he said politely. “I am the estate manager. Is my lord de la Fere here?”

“He’s upstairs,” d'Artagnan offered. “I’ll go find him for you.”

“My thanks.”

d'Artagnan stifled a completely inappropriate urge to laugh. The man’s formality seemed strange, although given this is where Athos grew up, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. He headed upstairs, listening carefully. The king seemed to have mostly settled down.

He tapped on the door and waited outside; Athos came out after a moment, closing the door behind himself. “Yes?”

“Mikael is downstairs.” He glanced towards the door. “How’s it going?”

“Aramis seems rather better at making him be quiet than I am.”

d'Artagnan concentrated for a moment. “Is he telling him stories he really shouldn’t be?”

“Louis is an adult,” Athos said briskly, stepping past him to head for the stairs.

“He’s not really,” d'Artagnan protested, trailing him. “Isn’t that unsettling? Telling stories like that to a six year old?”

“It’s making him be quiet.”

“Oh, well, if it’s making him be quiet,” he muttered.

d'Artagnan leaned against the doorframe while Athos talked quietly with Mikael. Porthos watched for a while before wandering off, but d'Artagnan found it interesting, watching Athos interact with a man who was in his employ. He thought Athos was probably a good master. Certainly Mikael had nothing but respect and admiration for him.

Mikael left and Athos came back to join d'Artagnan. “He will bring supplies tomorrow. I have told him we are guarding a young member of the royal family, that secrecy is vital. He’s a good man, he will keep silent.”

“He’s a good man,” d'Artagnan agreed. “Don’t go back upstairs,” he added when Athos went to step past him. “One of us will deal with him for now. You’re tired, and you’ll have to deal with Mikael tomorrow. Go and get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Athos muttered, but he went, and d'Artagnan was happy with that.


	2. Louis, pt 2

Aramis was starting to get very annoyed with his brothers.

They meant well, he knew, worried about what might happen if he touched Louis while he was still young. He was wary enough himself to avoid it, and Louis was determined not to get near him. He didn’t really need Porthos watching or d'Artagnan hovering or Athos reminding him every so often.

Mikael returned on the morning on the second day driving a cart of supplies. Louis ‘helped’ to unload it, mostly poking in the packages and getting underfoot; d'Artagnan fielded him as best he could, keeping him busy carrying packages to the kitchen.

“First time he’s ever been in a kitchen, I suppose,” Aramis said, mostly to himself.

d'Artagnan paused beside him, giving him an odd look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just thinking. What’s left to do?”

d'Artagnan waved at the cart and Aramis went to grab a crate. Mikael had been generous, outfitting the house for a much larger group for a much larger time. “We won’t use all this,” Aramis said as he passed Athos.

“Mikael will reclaim whatever we don’t use. And children have large appetites.” Athos sounded vaguely uncertain. Aramis carefully didn’t comment on it.

“Well, perhaps I should see about cooking something now, then.”

Louis wandered in and out while Aramis went through the supplies to find something he could cook. d'Artagnan was a better cook, but he was also occupied, keeping Athos busy and focused. This wasn’t exactly the house Athos’ life fell apart in, but it was close enough.

“Do you know how to cook?” Louis asked eventually, dragging a chair over so he could see what Aramis was doing.

“Not to the standard of your chefs, your majesty, but I can certainly make something edible.”

Louis seemed to be considering. “You could call me Louis,” he said finally.

“I’m sorry?” Aramis said politely.

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m very little for titles.”

“It’ll wear off in a couple of days, your majesty.”

“I _am_ still the king. What if I order you to use my name?”

“You are the king,” Aramis agreed. “You cannot order us to treat you with less than the respect you deserve.”

“No one ever uses my name,” Louis said with a sigh. “If the herald didn’t shout it every time we threw a ball, I might forget it.”

Aramis smiled faintly. “That is the price one pays for being the Lord’s king on earth, I suppose.”

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, watching his movements.

“Preparing stew.”

“Stew.” He made a face.

“It’s not exciting, your majesty, but it’s healthy and filling and it’s easy to make. Maybe d'Artagnan will make something else this evening.”

“Can he cook?” Louis said in surprise.

“He grew up in Gascony, your majesty, on a small farm. He can do most of the chores that come along with that.”

“But his father owned the farm.”

“His father thought that a man who owned a farm should know how to do all of the tasks required. A good master doesn’t ask his people to do anything the master can’t.”

Louis frowned thoughtfully. “I can’t cook.”

“Let’s see if we can’t do something about that. Do you see how I’m preparing these carrots? You try. Be careful, though, if you cut yourself I can’t help.”

“I can manage,” Louis said firmly, reaching for a knife and a carrot. Aramis showed him how to hold each and how to prepare the carrot, and quietly went on preparing his own until he had enough for the stew. Louis was rather more enthusiastic than skilled, not unlike his wife.

Porthos came through while they were working, took in what they were doing, and vanished before he could be roped in. d'Artagnan and Athos showed up only when the stew was almost ready; Aramis had d'Artagnan show Louis how to lay the table, and when they were distracted he leaned against the work table beside Athos. “You all right?”

“Hmm?” Athos glanced up. “Quite, yes.”

“Sure?” Aramis prodded. “Do I need to hide the good wine?”

“Would you know where to hide it?” Athos asked interestedly.

“I’m sure I could find somewhere you wouldn’t think of. Do I need to try?”

“No. I’m all right.”

Louis and d'Artagnan tore in, snatched at the pile of plates and dashed out again; Aramis raised one eyebrow, sighing. “You may have to replace some crockery.”

“Crockery’s easily replaced. How can I help?”

 

Louis woke early the next morning, which meant the rest of them had to get up early as well. Athos sent Porthos to bed – he’d been on watch most of the night – and pulled d'Artagnan aside. “Do you want to take Louis down to the swimming hole? It might occupy him for a while.”

“Better not. You or Porthos would be better.”

Athos frowned. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“I would enjoy it, but I wouldn’t be watching after the king. Someone else should do it, and it wouldn’t be very safe for Aramis. I can go later, maybe, or another time.”

“Porthos is sleeping, he was on watch.” Athos didn’t add _and I don’t want to_ , but he didn’t really need to. “How are you managing here?”

d'Artagnan shrugged. “The house is new. There’s no history here. The king is – confusing, but nothing I can’t handle. I think I’m managing better than you are.”

“Where does he get the energy from?” Athos grumbled. “Not from sleeping.”

“Children are like that.” d'Artagnan smiled at the look on his face. “Do you want me to take him? We’ll go around the grounds, or something. I was on my way to the horses, though.”

“I’ll take care of the horses,” Athos said quickly. d'Artagnan shrugged, turning to head back inside.

Athos took care of the horses – slowly – before going back into the house. He crossed paths with Aramis in the hall; Aramis grinned and pointed towards the kitchen. Curious, Athos followed the gesture, taking care to stay out of sight from inside as he looked.

“Stop poking,” d'Artagnan said warningly. “This is hot, you’ll burn yourself, and Aramis can’t help you.”

“You’re poking!” Louis protested.

“I know what I’m doing. This takes practise. I burned myself a lot when I was learning.”

Louis considered. “Did you have someone to help?”

“No. I just took care of it myself. Right, back.”

Louis skipped back a couple of steps as d'Artagnan gripped the pan, flipping it easily and catching the – crepe? Athos wasn’t sure – as it fell. “There,” he said with a grin, putting it back onto the heat. “And I did it with my off hand, too, so I’ll have enough money for the next year.”

“Is that true?” Louis asked curiously.

“I don’t know. Our housekeeper taught me, when I was very young. Back again, please.”

Louis obeyed and d'Artagnan flipped the crepe onto a plate. “There. Put some fruit on as well, your majesty.”

“You should have some too,” Louis said, slicing an apple carefully.

“I will, now. I had to make yours first. Eat it quickly, your majesty, it’s not as nice cold.”

“They’re always cold at the palace,” Louis protested.

“Well, some people like them better that way. I don’t. Try it hot and see what you think.”

d'Artagnan glanced towards the door. Athos took the hint, stepping inside as though just arriving. “I’ve never seen you make crepes before.”

“Think Serge would let me near the kitchen in the mornings?” d'Artagnan flipped the next one neatly. “I used to make them on the farm. They’re quick and filling and you can make plenty at once.”

“Who’s Serge?” Louis asked through a mouthful of food.

“He’s the garrison cook, your majesty.” Athos held out a plate for the next crepe. “He works very hard, but he’s very protective of his kitchen.”

“It’s hard to cook for large numbers of people,” d'Artagnan added. “Especially large numbers of soldiers. Would you like another, your majesty?”

“No, I’m full now. Can we go out?”

“I just need to make another two, then we can.”

“But I’m finished eating.”

“And I’m not finished cooking. It will only be another minute.”

Louis pouted, looking at Athos. “Comte…”

“I’m sorry, your majesty, we are all busy right now. If you want to go out, you must wait for d'Artagnan. He’ll be finished before any of us.”

d'Artagnan slid another crepe onto the plate, smiling at him. “You and Aramis,” he murmured, nodding to it. “Porthos can get something later.”

“Eat something,” Athos told him.

“Planning on it. Go on.”

Athos waited long enough to see him start another crepe, then left to find Aramis. He was in the ballroom, studying the small dais at one end of the room.

“Planning on hosting a lot of balls?” he asked when Athos came to join him.

“I’m not planning on being here any more than I have to, but I am still a Comte, and I’m the King’s man. He may decide I’m more use to him here administering my lands.”

“And the Comte must hold dances?”

Athos scowled, shoving the plate at him. “Eat.”

“What’s this?”

“d'Artagnan’s been entertaining the king.”

“By cooking pancakes at him?”

“Apparently. And attempting to teach him basic patience.” Athos took one of the crepes, letting Aramis take the plate from him.

“Brave man,” Aramis murmured, taking a bite. “S’good,” he said indistinctly.

“I’m going to ask Porthos to take Louis swimming this afternoon. Will you take d'Artagnan this evening?”

“Can you two handle the boy?”

“We’ll manage.” Athos sighed, taking a bite without really registering it. “The child said three days?”

“She said a few days,” Aramis corrected him. “Nothing too terrible has happened yet.”

“Treville can only hold the Court at bay for so long. And if anyone sees him…”

“You’re borrowing trouble, my friend,” Aramis said gently. “Eat something and relax while Louis is off with d'Artagnan. Perhaps tomorrow everything will be back to normal.”

“We can only hope,” Athos muttered, finishing the crepe.

It was very good.

 

“Your majesty, may I please have that?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The bottle.”

“I don’t see any bottle.”

“You’re holding it in your hand, your majesty.”

“No I’m not.”

“Aramis!” Athos said sharply.

Aramis reluctantly lowered his gaze from the ceiling. Porthos was grinning openly; d'Artagnan had both hands pressed against his mouth, shoulders shaking as he struggled not to laugh out loud. Louis was eating calmly.

“Athos,” Aramis said, when he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“Please ask the king to return the wine.”

Louis looked up long enough to say “There is no wine,” before going back to his food.

Aramis shrugged at the glare from Athos. “I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t contradict the king.”

“He’s holding the bottle in his hand,” Athos said pointedly. “We can all see it.”

Aramis looked just over Louis’ shoulder, careful not to let his gaze drop any lower. “I can’t see any bottle. d'Artagnan?” d'Artagnan shook his head without looking up; his eyes were shut tightly, trying desperately not to laugh.

“I don’t see any bottle either,” Porthos agreed. He was grinning more openly, but he was also only looking at Athos.

“How long do you plan to keep this up, your majesty?”

Louis examined the bottle curiously. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh dear, d'Artagnan and I have to leave,” Aramis announced loudly. “Come along, d'Artagnan.”

“Where are you going?” Louis asked.

“Out to the edge of the grounds to look around. We won’t be long.”

d'Artagnan managed to wait until they were out of the building to burst out laughing. Aramis propped him against a wall, amiably steadying him when he threatened to tip too far to one side. “How long do you think he’ll keep it up?”

“All…all night.” d'Artagnan drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “He’s enjoying it.”

“Good. It’s good for Athos.” Aramis stepped away, glancing up at the sky. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we going?” d'Artagnan asked, following him.

Aramis frowned at him. “Athos asked me to go to the swimming hole with you. I thought it was your idea.”

“He thinks I’m having trouble.”

“And you’re not?”

“The house is new. There’s no history here. Athos is so much lighter than last time we were here. I’m fine.”

“So do you _not_ want to go swimming?”

d'Artagnan smiled broadly. “I never turn down a chance to go swimming.”

The sun was starting to set as they reached the swimming hole, but there was enough light to see and Aramis looked around curiously. It was really only a wider spot in a river, perhaps a dozen steps across, but d'Artagnan seemed perfectly happy with it.

“What do you need me to do?” Aramis asked, studying the opposite bank intently while d'Artagnan stripped down to his smalls. He’d often seen the younger man in less than that, of course, but he still made the effort to avoid staring at him.

“Just make sure I get out again,” d'Artagnan said, wading in before Aramis could answer.

Left alone, he found a rock to sit on. He could hear d'Artagnan swimming lazily for a few minutes; then the sound stopped. Squinting through the gathering shadows, he could see d'Artagnan floating on his back.

Aramis let him float until it was too dark to see him any more. He’d lit a small fire, and now he took a burning branch and made his way down to the edge of the water. “d'Artagnan? Time to come in. Can you hear me? d'Artagnan.”

It took a few minutes, and he was just debating whether he’d have to go in himself, but eventually there was a splash and d'Artagnan said “I’m coming, Ar’mis.”

Aramis stayed where he was until d'Artagnan slogged out of the water, immediately sitting down. Aramis leaned down to help him up, and d'Artagnan recoiled. “Don’t. A minute.”

“There’s a fire just up the slope. You’ll rest better there.”

“A minute,” d'Artagnan repeated.

“Of course.” Aramis eased down to crouch beside him. d'Artagnan didn’t seem to be in any distress, he was just breathing evenly, face turned away from the torch.

After a couple of minutes he shifted. “All right.”

Aramis stood, leaning back down to help him up. “How do you feel?”

“Loose.”

“Loose?”

d'Artagnan shrugged, gesturing vaguely. That seemed to be as much explanation as he could manage. Aramis shook his head fondly, helping him up the bank and settling him on the hastily-folded cloak by the fire. “How long do you need?”

“C’n go now if we need to.”

“No. We’re not in a hurry.”

“Oh, good,” d'Artagnan sighed, curling onto his side and watching the fire.

“This happens every time you swim?” Aramis asked.

“It doesn’t have to. It’s harder to not, though.” He tugged at the cloak, trying to get it up over himself; Aramis stopped him, draping the second cloak over him. “Hmm, thanks.”

“It’s fine.” Aramis pressed a hand to his shoulder, smiling at the quiet in d'Artagnan’s mind. “We can wait until you’re ready.”

“Don’t let me sleep,” d'Artagnan murmured. “I’d sleep right through.”

“You can, if you want to.”

He shook his head slowly. “We have to go back. You’re on watch tonight.”

“Athos won’t argue it.”

“S’not very fair.”

Aramis shrugged easily. “You and Porthos are taking the bulk of dealing with Louis. It seems only fair that Athos and I take the bulk of the other work.”

“He’s afraid,” d'Artagnan said drowsily.

“Louis?”

“Athos. He’s bad with children because he’s afraid to be needed. He lets everyone down.” He sighed, curling up a little more.

“d'Artagnan,” Aramis murmured.

“Hmmm,” d'Artagnan breathed.

“Sit up. You’re falling asleep.”

“Mmm.”

Aramis smiled faintly, getting up and stepping around to crouch beside the boy. “d'Artagnan. You either have to get up or sleep. Which is it?”

“Tired, Ar’mis.”

“I know you are, but you told me not to let you sleep. Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” he grumbled, heaving himself up to sit. “You’re mean,” he added.

“I live my life in the hope of upsetting you,” Aramis agreed. “Come on. It seems like it’s going to take a while to get you back to the house.”


	3. Louis, pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me...

Porthos had been keeping an eye out, so he was the first to see Aramis and d'Artagnan returning. Aramis was practically carrying d'Artagnan, but he didn’t seem worried.

Louis was already in bed. Porthos whistled, knowing that wherever Athos was he’d hear it, and went out to meet them.

“ ‘Lo, Porthos,” d'Artagnan said cheerfully from where he was draped over Aramis’ shoulder.

“No need to ask where you were,” Porthos noted. “You couldn’t get him dressed again before walking up here, Aramis?”

“He’s not very coordinated. Getting the cloak around him was hard enough.”

“He’s still wet. Won’t he catch something?”

d'Artagnan lurched away from Aramis, all but falling into Porthos’ arms. “Aramis is on watch,” he said loudly.

“Yes,” Athos agreed as he joined them. “If you keep shouting like that, though, you’ll just draw anyone attacking right here and Aramis won’t need to watch for anything.”

d'Artagnan blinked at him for a moment before looking at Aramis. “Told you.”

“Yes, you did,” Aramis agreed. “Why don’t you go with Porthos and get some sleep, and I’ll stay on watch?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “You’re on watch.”

Aramis glanced at Porthos, who shrugged and simply started hauling d'Artagnan away. After a moment of confusion where d'Artagnan couldn’t seem to figure out his feet, he was happy enough to follow along.

“Longer swim this time?” Porthos asked idly. “You weren’t this out of it last time.”

“Didn’t have time to be last time, we were being shot at,” d'Artagnan pointed out.

“You can just stop like that?”

“ f’I have to. Don’t like doing it. This is better.” He stretched, almost throwing Porthos off balance.

“Glad you’re enjoying it. How long does it last?”

“Till I wake up.”

Porthos reached the bedroom they’d been using – they’d only cleared two, one for Louis and one for whichever of them weren’t on watch at any given time – and dumped d'Artagnan on one of the beds, watching as he slowly sorted out his limbs and curled onto his side.

"You should get dressed, lad," Porthos reminded him.

"Am dressed."

"Technically, no, you're not. Come on, sit up, you can't sleep in those wet things."

d'Artagnan lifted one arm, studying his sleeve. "What if I promise not to get sick?"

"No. Come on, sit up."

He dried d'Artagnan as best he could with the cloak - it would dry quickly enough - and got him into something dry. d'Artagnan was all but asleep by the time they were finished; Porthos prodded him awake long enough to establish that he didn't need anything particular and that he'd wake up on his own in the morning, and then let him sleep.

He passed Athos in the corridor, quietly assured him that d'Artagnan was fine, just sleeping, and there'd been no sound from Louis, and headed down to join Aramis.

"You should be sleeping," Aramis told him. "Weren't you on watch last night?"

"Yeah, and then our illustrious leader let me sleep all morning, and now I'm all messed up." Porthos swung up onto the wall beside him, eyeing the flat plain in front of them. "Tell me there's some action around here somewhere."

"Sorry," Aramis said apologetically. "Those bandits I hired haven't arrived yet."

"You paid up front, didn't you? I'm always telling you not to do that."

"I just like to believe the best of people."

"You want to believe the best of the bandits you hired to attack us so we wouldn't be bored? Aramis, my friend, I've heard of optimism, but you take it farther than anyone I've ever met."

"Do you want me to help you sleep?" Aramis offered. "It wouldn't be hard."

"While you're on watch? Athos'd flay me alive. Thanks anyway. It'll sort itself out."

"Well, at least get off the wall and sit on the ground. I have to walk around, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"I can come," Porthos offered, but now that Aramis had suggested it the ground looked very comfortable and he didn't argue when Aramis refused.

He was dozing when Aramis returned – childhood in the Court of Miracles and adulthood as a soldier left him able to doze just about anywhere – and he cracked open one eye. "Anything?"

"Quiet as the grave," Aramis murmured, climbing back up to sit above him.

"Careful, Aramis. That's tempting fate."

Aramis said something rude about fate, but Porthos was already drifting off again.

 

As the only one of them with any experience of the position, Athos had been functioning as Louis’ valet. It was mostly an exercise in frustration for both of them. Louis hated the clothes Mikael had brought, but there was no way they could alter any of his own.

They were arguing over his shirt when d'Artagnan knocked on the door, pushing it open without stepping in. "Mikael's downstairs, Athos."

"Who's Mikael?" Louis demanded, scrambling onto the windowsill to look out.

"My estate manager," Athos said absently, trying to read d'Artagnan's expression. He didn't seem worried, but Athos couldn't tell if that was to keep Louis from realising something was wrong.

Louis slid down from the window, scowling suddenly. "You said no one knew I was here."

"No one knows you're here. Mikael knows only that we are guarding someone important. He will not speak of our presence here. Your majesty, please put your shirt on so I can go and speak with him."

"You go," d'Artagnan offered. "I'll help the king."

"Are you sure?"

"It's been some time, but I remember how to dress a six year old boy. And I'm sure his majesty will correct me if I make any mistakes. We'll manage."

Athos let himself be persuaded, heading downstairs. Mikael was waiting patiently in the entrance hall. Porthos was leaning against the wall, watching him, and Athos knew Aramis would be outside watching to make sure no one was sneaking up on them.

"Mikael," Athos greeted him. "Is something wrong?"

"There were men in the town, my lord," Mikael answered. "Looking for any Musketeers who might have passed through. They said they were supposed to meet with you."

"They weren't Musketeers?" Porthos asked.

"They wore no uniform, and they did not claim to be Musketeers. Are you expecting more?"

"No, but that doesn't always stop them," Athos muttered. "But Musketeers would have identified themselves. If these men didn't, they aren't Musketeers."

Mikael nodded. "They have not approached me yet."

"And no one knows we're here?" Porthos asked.

"I've spoken to no one," Mikael said carefully.

"But?" Athos prompted.

“I had to buy the supplies.”

Athos rubbed at his forehead. “Make it known that I plan to visit some time in the next week to examine the building and to hear grievances. Our guard duty here should not take much longer, and I will return afterwards.”

Mikael nodded. “I’ll see it done. Speaking of your guard duty, my lord…” He picked up a bag that had been leaning against his feet, offering it to Porthos. Porthos glanced into it, grinned, and passed it on to Athos.

Athos studied the contents for a moment before nodding solemnly. “Thank you, Mikael.”

“Yours are gone, and these were only gathering dust. They may as well be useful.”

“I’ll see them returned to you when we’re finished.”

“No need, my lord. They may be useful here sometime.”

“Athos!” d'Artagnan called from upstairs.

“A moment!” Athos answered. “Mikael, it’s best if you leave before our charge comes down, so that you don’t need to lie.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mikael nodded to Porthos, bowed to Athos and left.

“Didn’t know what to make of me,” Porthos noted.

“He doesn’t know if you have rank or not,” Athos said absently.

Louis flew down the stairs, crossing to peer out of the main door. “What did he want?”

“Merely to make sure we need nothing,” Athos assured him.

Louis came back towards him, eyeing the bag. “What’s that?”

“A gift from Mikael. Come and eat breakfast and then you may look.”

The king headed for the dining room. Athos glanced over to where Porthos and d'Artagnan were talking quietly. “d'Artagnan?” He looked up and Athos rattled the bag. “Best if you don’t touch these.”

d'Artagnan nodded easily. “Has Aramis eaten? I’ll bring him something.

He vanished towards the kitchen and Athos went to oversee Louis’ breakfast. He and Louis had sadly different definitions of ‘eat breakfast’, but eventually they reached a compromise. Athos helped the king wash his hands and face and then finally allowed him to open the bag.

 

d'Artagnan slipped into the dining room, closing the door fully before hurrying across to Louis. “Your majesty…”

“Look what Mikael brought me,” Louis said, carefully placing a wooden soldier in line with the others.

“Very nice. Sire…”

“Why aren’t they coloured?”

“What?” d'Artagnan said, distracted.

“Mine at the palace are coloured. These are just wood.”

“Paint’s expensive, your majesty, I suppose Mikael couldn’t get any. You need to pack them up now.”

“But I’m playing,” he protested.

“We have to go outside for a while. Pack them away, please.”

Louis finally turned to look at him, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

d'Artagnan considered quickly before deciding on the truth. “Some men are approaching. Athos has gone to meet them, and hopefully it’s nothing, but we need to go out of the house for a little while. Please pack up the soldiers and let’s go.”

“Help me,” Louis ordered, sweeping a handful of soldiers into the bag.

“Athos told me not to touch them. Just quickly, please.” He went to the window, eyeing what he could see of the front of the house. No one was in sight, and the others were wary but not particularly scared at the moment.

“Here,” Louis said. d'Artagnan turned, eyeing the bag; crossing to the sideboard, he found an empty drawer and gestured Louis to store the bag inside.

“Good. Now, stay with me, sire.” d'Artagnan led him out through the kitchen, glancing around as they crossed the courtyard and slipped into the trees on the other side.

Below the swimming hole the shores of the river lifted to form cliffs on either side. d'Artagnan led Louis along, keeping an eye out for a tree or a cave they could hide in. Athos knew roughly where to look for them, but not exactly.

"There's a ledge," Louis offered, peering over the side of the cliff.

d'Artagnan glanced down, shaking his head. "No cover and nowhere to go if there's trouble."

“Why aren’t you wearing your pauldron?”

He glanced automatically at his shoulder. “Athos is meeting them as the Comte, not as a Musketeer. We need to hide every connection to you.”

Alarm and panic flared from the others; d'Artagnan spun, staring towards the house.

"What's wrong?" Louis demanded, voice high and shrill.

"They're fighting. Come on." He caught Louis' arm, swinging the boy up onto his back, and started half jogging through the trees. Louis clung on, scared and trying not to show it.

Someone was hurt. d'Artagnan slowed, momentarily unsteady while he tried to clear the sensation, and in that moment his foot came down on a branch that shifted. Losing his balance, he snatched at the nearest tree, missed by inches, and toppled over the side of the cliff with Louis still wrapped around his head.


	4. Louis, pt 4

The fall wasn't far and the water was deep, and d'Artagnan kept hold of Louis as they hit the water. The current momentarily confused him, but he got them to the surface, still holding on to the king.

The current had swept them away from the banks to the centre of the river and was now hurrying them downstream. d'Artagnan dragged Louis off his shoulders and around in front of him, pressing him against his chest. The water was already pulling at him; it was getting harder to focus. “Keep hold of me,” he told Louis. “No matter what, hold on.”

“We have to get out!” Louis protested, spluttering.

“We need the cliffs to lower. Just hold on.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and the next thing he knew his cheek was stinging and he was spitting out water. Louis was shouting, furious, but he couldn’t hear much, couldn’t focus on anything.

“…awake! We’ll drown!”

“I’m awake,” he managed finally.

“What’s wrong with you!” Louis shouted. His eyes were red and he was terrified.

d'Artagnan craned to try and see the cliffs; still too high for them to get out, and frustratingly free of anything he could catch them on. “The water makes me tired. I’m sorry; I’m fine.”

“We’ll drown!”

“We won’t drown.” He really didn’t think they would; the water was fast and the walls were high, but it wasn’t especially rough and he wasn’t having trouble keeping them afloat. As long as he didn’t drift off again. He was glad Louis was currently six years old, though; keeping two grown men afloat would be much harder, maybe impossible.

Keeping track of the others was harder through the water, but he was fairly sure no one was seriously hurt, and he thought someone was coming looking for them; there was a pulse of worry getting stronger. Louis was starting to shiver against him, and that was a bigger worry than them drowning.

“Talk to me,” he said, watching the cliffs. Any chance he saw, they were getting out, even if it marooned them on a beach.

“Talk?” Louis repeated.

“Keep me awake, keep you concentrating.”

Louis shuddered, trying to burrow closer; they both wobbled alarmingly and d'Artagnan had to adjust them quickly. “What about?” Louis asked once they were a bit steadier. He was crying, d'Artagnan realized abruptly; he carefully didn’t react to the knowledge.

“You rode a horse for the hunt, two weeks ago. Do you remember?”

“A bay,” Louis agreed.

“Do you know anything about him?”

Louis started rambling about horses – it didn’t seem to actually be about the horse he’d been riding for that hunt, but d'Artagnan didn’t care. As long as Louis was talking, he was happy.

Finally, a break on the left. It was nothing much, only a patch of gravel at the base of the cliff; he couldn’t see if there was a way up the cliffs, but it was a way out of the water, and he was starting to shiver now as well. He couldn’t keep them in much longer.

“Louis,” he said, interrupting an account of a parade Louis had attended at some point. “Can you swim if I let go?”

“Don’t let go!” Louis shrieked.

“There’s a slope, I need you to kick. Look, over there.” He turned Louis with some difficulty, pointing to the slope. “There, look, kick!”

“I’ll drown!”

“I’m right here beside you. Just kick!”

Sobbing, Louis kicked weakly. d'Artagnan kept a hand on his arm, keeping him afloat as he flailed for the slope. He was losing focus again, but he was determined to get Louis out of the water first. That was the important thing; that was what he was holding on to.

Louis hit the slope and hauled himself painfully up it, collapsing as soon as he was high enough that his face cleared the water. d'Artagnan felt himself starting to drift again and kicked as vigorously as he could. It was enough to beach himself on the slope, though he couldn’t gather himself enough to get out of the water.

Someone was holding his head awkwardly out of the water, aimlessly singing a lullaby he hadn’t heard in years. d'Artagnan listened, confused, trying to remember what was happening.

The lullaby wobbled and Louis said quietly, “You’re too heavy. I can’t go much longer.” He sounded exhausted, so far down he wasn’t feeling anything any more.

The lullaby picked back up again – he was out of tune, d'Artagnan noted absently – and Louis shifted, trying to prop d'Artagnan against himself. He wasn’t tall enough to get him out of the water, though, and d'Artagnan grimaced, getting a hand under himself and pushing as hard as he could.

“You’re alive,” Louis noted.

“More or less.” d'Artagnan dragged himself up a little – Louis gripped his shoulder and tugged, for all the help that was – and got himself mostly out of the water. Neither of them was shivering any more, and he knew that was probably a bad sign, but he couldn’t focus.

“How long?” he asked, stretching each limb in turn to test it. Everything ached, but he didn’t think there were any actual injuries.

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know. A while. I didn’t know if you were alive. Where are the others?”

d'Artagnan dragged himself up to sit, closing his eyes to concentrate. “Someone’s looking for us. Not far away. The others – they’re looking further away. Wrong direction.”

Belatedly, it occurred to him that – assuming Louis was actually taking any of this in – he now had proof of Ability. It didn’t seem worth it to worry about it. He was pretty sure he’d exposed himself a couple of times in the last hour or so anyway.

“Who’s looking for us?”

“I don’t know. Aramis, I think. I can’t get that close.”

Louis was watching him when he opened his eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.”

“We need to know.” d'Artagnan looked around, feeling more alert. “Can you gather up some of that wood?”

“It’s wet.”

“It’ll smoke. Aramis will see it.”

“Shouldn’t we look for a way out?” Louis asked, starting to gather some of the wood.

“I don’t think I can get you up that cliff on my own. We need to wait until Aramis gets here. It won’t be long.”

There was enough damp wood to get the fire going. d'Artagnan made Louis sit on the other side of the slope, upwind, to stay out of the smoke. The heat was good for both of them, though, and he was feeling better by the time Aramis hailed them from above.

“Anyone hurt?” Aramis called down.

“Bumps and bruises!” d'Artagnan shouted. “Can you see a way up?”

Aramis considered, walking back and forth across the cliff. d'Artagnan kicked the fire out, burying the ashes and scattering the wood.

“I have a rope,” Aramis offered eventually.

“Good,” d'Artagnan agreed. Louis was watching him curiously. “Tie it off, then.”

It was a little too short. d'Artagnan had to boost Louis up the first third or so of the cliff. Once they reached the rope he made Louis wrap it around himself and they climbed up more easily, using the rope for support.

“d'Artagnan,” Aramis called after a few minutes, “not to worry you, but hurry up.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Really, hurry up.” d'Artagnan tilted his head to look up, leaning back against the rope, and Aramis shouted “Don’t change your weight like that!”

The rope bounced slightly. d'Artagnan cursed under his breath, smiling when Louis glanced at him. “He just wants us to get off the cliff. Come on, we’re nearly there.”

The rope was unravelling faster than they could climb, and Aramis couldn’t stop it from above. d'Artagnan shifted away from the rope, hoping that Louis’ weight alone wouldn’t be enough, but it didn’t slow it enough.

He was within arm’s reach of the clifftop when the rope gave way; he lunged, catching Louis’ arm and shouting as abused muscles protested. “Aramis!”

Aramis leaned over the edge, white and tense. d'Artagnan looked up enough to see his face. “I’m sorry; I can’t get him up. You have to. I’m sorry.”

Aramis nodded, anchoring himself carefully. d'Artagnan took a deep breath and then heaved, almost dislocating his own shoulder as he got Louis up into Aramis’ waiting hands. d'Artagnan hung from his handhold for a moment, waiting for the stars to clear from his vision before he hauled himself painfully up the last couple of feet.

Aramis was on his knees, one hand gripping Louis’ arm, the other plastered to his neck. Louis was squirming slightly, watching him.

d'Artagnan stumbled across, dropping to his knees beside them and barely registering the pain. “Is he hurting you, your majesty?”

“No, but he won’t let go. I don’t think he’s awake.”

d'Artagnan leaned around to study the blank look on Aramis’ face. “No. I don’t think he is. Do you feel better?”

“All better. Just tired.”

“Tired’s harder to help. I’m going to make him let go of you. Take a few steps away, all right?”

“Will it hurt him?”

“Not as much as trying to fix you if he can’t. Are you ready?”

It wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared; as soon as Aramis’ skin brushed his Aramis latched on. d'Artagnan was glad of it, because he wasn’t sure how far he could have walked without help, and Porthos and Athos were still looking in entirely the wrong direction. Aramis stayed blank and apparently unaware until d'Artagnan was completely healed; then he stirred, head turning towards Louis. “Where…”

“Don’t look at him,” d'Artagnan murmured. “He’s fine; you fixed him up. He’s fine.”

“Still a child,” Aramis muttered.

“A perfectly healthy child.”

“I can feel it.” Aramis shivered. “Like a wall inside him. I can’t get past it.”

“You don’t need to; it’ll come down in a day or two.”

“d'Artagnan…”

“D’you need me to keep you apart?”

Aramis shuddered all over and then shook his head. “No. I can manage. Just – make sure he doesn’t fall at me or something.”

d'Artagnan huffed out a laugh. He was still exhausted – Aramis never did help much with that – and a little punchy from the water, and everything seemed just slightly more amusing than it really was. “What happened at the house?”

“Bandits who’d heard someone important was passing through. We took care of it.”

“Someone was hurt?”

“Athos, graze to the shoulder. It’s nothing.” Aramis eyed him. “You felt that.”

“I was paying attention, to know if it was safe to go back.”

“Before or after you fell in the river?”

“About three seconds before. Are you ready? How careful do I need to be?”

Aramis shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt, like untreated pain; it’s just annoying, like an itch, or a noise you can’t make stop. I can manage it.”

“All right then. Your majesty, can you walk?”

Louis studied them for a moment before jutting out his chin. “Yes. Let’s go.”

 

Porthos halted, looking around for Athos. “We’re wasting time. They didn’t come this way.”

“You’re certain?”

“Look at this. It’s all uphill and there’s no good cover. There’s no trace of anyone coming through here. d'Artagnan didn’t come this way.” He studied Athos. “You all right? You haven’t rested yet.”

“It’s nothing.” Porthos raised an eyebrow and Athos corrected himself, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Finding the king is more important.”

“You’ll say if you need to stop? Won’t do any good if we find the others and then Aramis has to fix you up.”

Twice in the five years he’d been a Musketeer, Athos had been injured badly enough that Aramis hadn’t dared wait for his own healing Ability to kick in. He described Healing Athos as trying to direct a whirlwind; Athos’ Ability wrapped so tightly around him it was hard for Aramis to get through, and it always wiped him out, leaving him all but useless for a day or more.

They retraced their steps and followed Aramis’ trail, since d'Artagnan didn’t seem to have left one. Porthos spent most of the time looking up into the trees, trusting Athos to tell him if he was about to go over the cliff – although he didn’t see how anyone could fall over. The edge was fairly obvious.

He fell over d'Artagnan, in the end, rounding a tree and tripping on an outstretched leg. “Ow,” d'Artagnan said reproachfully, but he didn’t move or even open his eyes. Louis was curled into his side, deeply enough asleep that he hadn’t stirred; Aramis was two trees over, hat tipped down over his eyes.

Athos stepped over d'Artagnan’s leg to help Porthos up. “Is anyone hurt?” he asked, surveying them. Porthos, back on his feet, went to crouch beside Aramis. He was twitching slightly, but not quite awake, and Porthos didn’t want to risk touching him until he woke.

“We’re all just worn out,” d'Artagnan assured him. “And cold.”

“And rather wet,” Athos agreed. “What happened?”

“We’re really more damp than wet.”

“d'Artagnan, you just squelched.”

“Don’t wake the king,” d'Artagnan said quickly, and Porthos smiled faintly. As distractions went, that one was pretty terrible.

Aramis finally roused, leaning his head back against the tree and blinking sleepily at him. “Porthos.”

“Aramis,” Porthos answered. “C’mon, you can’t sleep here. Can you stand?”

“You can’t manage all of us,” Aramis protested.

“Athos is with me.”

“Is he hurt?”

“He says he isn’t. What d’you need? You need touch?”

“Yes, but I won’t until I’m better balanced.” He gripped Porthos’ arm, levering himself upright. “d'Artagnan?”

d'Artagnan glanced around – Louis was in Athos’ arms now, and he didn’t seem quite sure how to feel about that – and came over to crouch beside them. “Aramis?”

Aramis gestured him closer and clamped one hand to his neck before he could react. Porthos could see the exhaustion lifting from d'Artagnan, eyes clearing and back straightening.

“That doesn’t last,” Aramis said, patting him gently before letting go. “But it’ll get you back to the house.”

“Aramis…”

“He can’t do it for himself,” Porthos said, anticipating the question. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Louis slept all the way back. d'Artagnan started wavering as they left the river to cross the fields, but he determinedly kept going. Aramis was more or less useless; he was keeping his feet, but only just. By the time they reached the house Porthos was carrying him in all but name.

“The den has the largest fireplace,” Athos said as they reached the courtyard. “They’re all too cold, still.”

“I’ll get the fire going, you get the blankets,” Porthos agreed, reaching out to stop d'Artagnan walking into an open door. d'Artagnan blinked at it; Porthos nudged him to the side, enough to make it through the doorway.

Athos settled Louis on the couch and disappeared upstairs. Porthos got Aramis installed in a chair. d'Artagnan sort of slid down to sit on the floor at the base of the chair, staring at the fire Porthos was lighting.

Porthos made sure the fire would catch and moved to hunker beside d'Artagnan. “Oi. You all right?”

d'Artagnan blinked. It took him far too long to turn his head; Porthos thought briefly of the effect swimming usually had on him, but this was different. Less than a day ago d'Artagnan had been loose and happy. Now he just seemed empty and worn down.

“Don’t need,” d'Artagnan said finally. “Just tired.”

“Your shields?”

“Fine. It’s – different kind of tired. M’fine.”

“Don’t go to sleep yet. Athos is getting dry clothes. I’m going to get something hot for you to drink. d'Artagnan, tell me what I just said.”

“No sleeping.”

Porthos wasn’t sure how long d'Artagnan could obey, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. He went into the kitchen, setting the soup on and searching through the pantry. There was a tiny amount of ginger, and he brewed it into tea and brought it back to the den.

d'Artagnan was still awake, but heavy eyed, watching the fire. Porthos managed to get some of the tea into him just as Athos came back down, carrying blankets and dry clothes for everyone.

Aramis roused enough to change himself and drink some tea before drifting back off, wrapped in a blanket. Athos busied himself with Louis. Porthos sighed, turning to d'Artagnan. “Come on, then.”

d'Artagnan managed some of it on his own. He couldn’t really handle the buttons or laces, but once Porthos had them open he could do the rest. Porthos stood by, ready to catch him if he overbalanced, but he was more or less ok. Porthos made sure he had a blanket and there was another one under him before letting him sit back down.

“There’s soup, but I don’t think you’re awake enough.”

“Hmm, no,” d'Artagnan agreed blearily.

“Get some sleep,” Porthos said quietly. “You can eat something when you wake up.”

d'Artagnan nodded, eyes drifting closed. Porthos sat back, glancing over at Athos; Louis appeared to have slept straight through being dried and changed and was now snoring softly from under three blankets.

“Get some sleep,” Athos told him quietly. “I’ll wake you in a while.”

“You should sleep first,” Porthos protested. “You need to heal up.”

“It’s really nothing, and I only carried Louis. You can take a longer watch to make up.”

Porthos knew he should argue, but he was tired, and Athos didn’t seem to be suffering. “All right. Wake me.”

“I will,” Athos promised.

Porthos didn’t even consider going upstairs. There was one blanket left, and his cloak; he made a passable pallet on the floor and was asleep within a few minutes.

 

Athos woke Porthos as the sun set. They debated waking the others, to eat if nothing else, but eventually they decided sleep was probably more important. Athos told Porthos to wake him again in the early morning, settled on the pallet and fell straight asleep.

d'Artagnan was sitting at the foot of the pallet, fiddling with a piece of wood, when Athos woke. "Morning."

"Is it?" Athos twisted to look at the window; the sun wasn't quite up yet, but soon. Turning, he glared at Porthos, who shrugged innocently at him. "How are you feeling?" he added, looking back at d'Artagnan.

"Better." He held up the wood – one of Mikael's soldiers, Athos realised, grimacing – and tossed it to him. "I didn't mean to, it was on the floor. I'm all right, though."

"Are you?"

"Is he?"

Athos fingered the soldier gently. "Mikael's wife fell easily pregnant, but she never bore a live child."

"That much I gathered," d'Artagnan agreed.

"He's a good man. He keeps going."

"He's a good man," d'Artagnan echoed softly. Shifting slightly, he smiled faintly. "You can give it back to him, anyway."

"Pardon?"

He gestured over his shoulder towards the couch. Athos followed his gaze, but it took him a moment to realise the snoring lump was larger than he'd been expecting. "Ah. When did that happen?"

Porthos shrugged. "Some time around midnight; I didn't see it. Aramis went to send a message to Treville, tell 'im we'll be on the way back to the city. He can stop worrying about the Court."

"How is Aramis?" Athos asked, putting the soldier down as he stood. d'Artagnan reached for it absently, turning it over and over in his hands.

"He's all right. I made him eat before he left."

"Good," Athos murmured. "d'Artagnan, will you put that down? It can't be good for you."

"Mikael worked here on the estate when you were growing up?"

"He was my father's steward, and mine until I left, and my keeper on occasion. Thomas was very fond of him. Why?"

d'Artagnan smiled faintly, pushing to his feet and tucking the soldier into a pouch on his belt. "His wife didn't give him children, but he watched the boy he thought of as his son grow into a man he's proud to serve." Clapping Athos on the shoulder, he headed out into the kitchen.

Athos blinked, staring intently at the fireplace for several moments. "I should fetch the king's clothes," he said finally. "He'll need them."

"I think so," Porthos agreed. "Want me to wake him?"

"Please don't; the longer he sleeps the better." Porthos snorted agreement and Athos headed upstairs.

By the time d'Artagnan reappeared with omelettes, Louis was awake, dressed, and grumpy. "I don't understand what we're doing here," he said for the fourth time.

"As I've explained, your majesty..."

He gestured, cutting Athos off. "Yes, yes, some nonsense about me being turned into a child."

"He doesn't remember?" d'Artagnan said in surprise.

" _He_ is right here, d'Artagnan!" Louis said sharply.

"My apologies, your majesty. Omelette?"

The omelette distracted Louis for a while; granted, mostly into proclaiming that Athos should fire his chef as the food was terrible, but d'Artagnan seemed mostly amused, so Athos didn't correct the king. When they'd finished eating he contrived to get d'Artagnan alone in the kitchen, leaving a disgruntled Porthos to entertain the king.

"Is he telling the truth?"

"That I'm a terrible cook? I haven't had any complaints."

"That he doesn't remember."

d'Artagnan glanced towards the door. "I don't know."

"d'Artagnan..."

"Louis layers his mind."

"He what?"

"It's something he learned to do. He makes layers, in his mind, to confuse people like me. I can get through, but it takes energy I'd rather not expend right now. Does it matter whether he remembers or not?"

"I suppose not," Athos muttered. "It just..."

d'Artagnan only watched, and Athos grimaced. "Why do you make me say what you already know?"

"To make sure that you know it."

"It seems to make everything pointless. Everything we did to protect him. He doesn't remember, now."

"We remember." d'Artagnan glanced at the door again, smiling faintly. "Honour."

"I can live with that." Athos sighed. "Come along. Aramis will be back soon; we should be ready to leave when he gets here. Paris awaits."

d'Artagnan nodded, heading back towards the den to start packing up. Athos took one last look around the kitchen. He'd never be totally happy on the estate where his world had ended, but visiting with his brothers had driven out some of the ghosts of his past. Turning, he went to rejoin the others.

Behind him, a toy soldier sat on the windowsill in the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the Louis AU. There'll be others, but not straight away. I hope you enjoyed. :)


	5. d'Artagnan, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by WF. Enjoy, guys!

“I can ride my own horse.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can too!”

“d'Artagnan,” Athos said patiently, “you’re not tall enough for these horses.”

“Am too!”

Porthos put a hand on the top of his head. He didn’t have to stretch. “No, you’re not. You’re barely a metre, kid.”

d'Artagnan swiped his hand off, scowling. “Stop enjoying this!” Porthos shrugged, but he didn’t look especially apologetic, and d'Artagnan scowled again.

“d'Artagnan, you’re not riding alone,” Athos told him. “Pick one of us and let’s go.”

d'Artagnan grimaced, kicking at the ground. “You,” he muttered.

“Good.” Athos mounted and leaned back down; Porthos boosted d'Artagnan up and he settled in front of Athos, huddled in on himself.

Athos wrapped one arm around him, holding the reins loosely. “All right?” he murmured. d'Artagnan grumbled something vaguely affirmative. Athos nodded, nudging the horse into motion.

 

“Tell me you’re not serious.”

d'Artagnan waved vaguely. “Inkwell. Wife. Hit someone over the head but he deserved it.”

“It really is d'Artagnan, sir,” Athos said into the silence.

“So I see.” Treville eyed him. “How did this happen?”

“The bandits we were fighting had someone able to do this. d'Artagnan saw them aiming for me and got in the way – which we’ll be talking about once he’s older,” Athos added firmly. d'Artagnan looked away, digging the toe of one boot into the floor. “Porthos fought the bandit and was forced to kill him.”

“And yet this hasn’t worn off. How do we fix it?”

“Transformations like this will generally wear off on their own,” Aramis offered. “The body wants to be the way it should, and without the man here to reinforce the change, it will go back to that shape.”

“You can’t help?”

“Not at all the kind of thing I deal with. d'Artagnan isn’t injured or ill in any way.”

“I see.” Treville sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You know, any other team I sent out to deal with bandits would simply have dealt with the bandits.”

“We like to keep things interesting, Captain,” Porthos said with a grin.

“Porthos!” d'Artagnan protested. “Stop that!”

“He’s so cute when he tries to glare, have you noticed?” Porthos said to Aramis. “Like one of those little puppies that tries to growl when it doesn’t have any teeth.”

d'Artagnan stomped over, glared at him, and kicked him sharply on the ankle.

 

“No, you may not practise.”

“Why not?”

Athos looked at the others for help, but they were deliberately not looking at him. “Because you’re six years old and half our size, d'Artagnan.”

“So I’ll be faster!”

“Why don’t you help Porthos in the stables?”

“Jacques won’t let me, I’m not tall enough to reach.”

“You could help Aramis clean the weapons.”

“I’m not cleaning weapons every day until this wears off!”

“Not every day,” Aramis agreed, taking pity on Athos, “but you can certainly do it today. Come along.”

d'Artagnan glared at Athos until he looked up. “I’m still me.”

“Just rather smaller,” Porthos agreed, stepping backwards quickly to avoid the furious kick.

Aramis quickly bundled d'Artagnan away in the direction of the armoury, ignoring the angrily raised voice. Athos watched them go, sighing.

“It’ll be fine,” Porthos told him. “You heard Aramis, this wears off.”

“Yes,” Athos agreed. “I heard him.”

 

Aramis watched carefully as d'Artagnan cleaned the pistol. He clearly hadn’t forgotten how to do it, but little fingers found the job harder and he was getting frustrated.

“Take it slowly,” Aramis advised him. “There’s no rush.”

“I’m useless,” d'Artagnan protested.

“You’re not,” Aramis said automatically. d'Artagnan retained his memories, they’d tested him enough to be sure of that, but he certainly seemed to have the emotional level of a six year old child.

“You could do this twice as fast as me.”

“But your hands are smaller; you can clean deeper than I can.”

d'Artagnan scowled, rubbing at a patch of grease. “Is this really going to fix?”

“No transformation I’ve ever seen has stayed in place. Your body knows it shouldn’t be six years old.”

“Have you seen lots?”

“I’ve been a soldier a long time. I’ve seen most Abilities by now. Porthos has probably seen them as well, in the Court.”

d'Artagnan scrubbed the pistol for a moment longer. “What if I don’t?”

“You will,” Aramis said again. “But if you don’t, d'Artagnan, we’ll help you.”

d'Artagnan looked up, blinking very quickly. “I’m not scared,” he insisted.

“I know.”

“I’m not really six, Aramis.”

“I know.” Aramis glanced at the pistol as it slipped out of his hands again. “Come around here and let me show you what you’re doing wrong. Look, stand here between my legs and you can see the best.”

d'Artagnan glowered, but apparently out of habit rather than sincerely, because he came to stand between Aramis’ legs. Aramis carefully put an arm on each side of him, not hugging in any way, and went through the motions of cleaning the pistol.

Halfway through, d'Artagnan leaned back against his knees. Aramis finished and immediately started again; when d'Artagnan shifted, he murmured, “You can sit, if you’re tired.”

“Am not,” d'Artagnan protested, but by the third time through the cleaning he’d hitched himself up onto Aramis’ lap and was watching drowsily, head leaning against Aramis’ shoulder.

By the fourth time, he was asleep.


	6. D'Artagnan pt2

Aramis woke d'Artagnan for the evening meal, tactfully not mentioning the fact that he'd fallen asleep. d'Artagnan kept himself awake at the table by pinching the inside of his elbow every time he started to drop off. Apparently being turned into a six year old was more tiring than he'd thought; the first time he'd been this age he'd already been working on the farm.

"d'Artagnan, you should go to bed," Aramis said, watching his head wobble again.

"I'm not tired," d'Artagnan insisted.

"That raises a question," Porthos said, leaning forward over the table. "Where's he gonna sleep?"

"I have a room," d'Artagnan reminded him impatiently.

"And who's going to stay with him?" Athos added.

"I don't need staying with! I'm not really six! And besides, all I'm going to do is sleep, and I'm in the garrison."

"Someone should really –“

"Anyone who tries to stay with me is getting a faceful of chamber pot during the night," d'Artagnan warned them. " _After_ I've used it."

Aramis made a face, glancing at Athos. "He is in the garrison, Athos. He can hardly get into much trouble here."

Athos frowned. "Do you swear you'll stay in your room until one of us gets back in the morning?"

d'Artagnan scrambled up to stand on the bench; he was still only barely taller than Athos. "I'm not six!"

"Your body is," Athos said evenly. "And it can be injured as easily as any six year old. I'm sorry you're upset, but you're not going to be left alone until this is over."

d'Artagnan glanced around the group. Aramis was quietly sympathetic; Porthos had lost the amused tone he'd carried for most of the day so far; and Athos was keeping very tight control over a feeling of panic. Sighing, he slumped back down onto the bench. "I'll be careful."

"Good man," Athos said quietly.

"But you don't have to stay," d'Artagnan added quickly. "You've got things to do and you wouldn't be staying here if it was a normal night. Go do your things and I'll go to bed."

Porthos had the best view of the gateway, and it was he who paled, sweeping out one arm as if to hide d'Artagnan behind it. "Be..."

"Have any of you seen d'Artagnan?" Constance called, picking her way across the courtyard to join them.

"He's on a mission," Athos said smoothly.

"Without you lot?" Constance glanced around the table, eyes widening as she saw d'Artagnan. "Hello."

d'Artagnan waved, looking away to try and hide the blush he could feel burning in his cheeks.

"Aramis?" Constance prompted.

"Constance?"

"Introductions?"

"Oh. Yes, of course. How foolish of me not to introduce you straight away to little – little, uh..."

"Charles." d'Artagnan climbed onto the bench again to reach across and grip her hand. He couldn't reach far enough to kiss it, and Porthos was holding the back of his breeches tightly, so he made do with sort of waggling it. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"I'm pleased to meet you!" Constance answered with a laugh. d'Artagnan squeaked as Porthos hauled him back down, but it had worked; Constance wasn't suspicious of him.

Athos rose to his feet, drawing Constance away a couple of paces; enough to pretend they were talking in private without actually blocking him from hearing in any way. "Charles is the unfortunate victim of a bandit attack we dealt with earlier today," he murmured. "We have brought him here for his safety, but within a few days he should be where he belongs."

"Poor boy," Constance said just as quietly. "I could take him to the palace, I'm sure the queen wouldn't mind for a couple of days."

d'Artagnan moved quickly, and by the time she looked at him he was nestled against Aramis' arm, yawning sleepily. "I believe he's quite happy," Athos said, and he didn't sound especially amused but d'Artagnan could feel every bit of it. "But I will inform Captain Treville of your kind offer. He may decide the garrison is not the place for a boy."

Constance came back to the table, sitting opposite them. "You have family, Charles?"

"Brothers," he said without thinking, and the warm feeling from the others made him smile.

"I'm sure you'll be back with them soon," Constance said comfortingly. "Athos always does what he says he will."

"You're very pretty," d'Artagnan said on impulse. Porthos choked on his drink; Athos thumped him on the back without changing his expression in the slightest.

Constance smiled. "Thank you, Charles. Going to be a charmer," she added to Aramis. "Mind you don't teach him too much, or he'll have all the ladies falling at his feet."

"I shall endeavour not to corrupt him," Aramis promised solemnly.

"Take him up to bed, Aramis," Athos said quietly, and d'Artagnan forced his eyes open.

"I'm not tired."

"Tell you what," Constance offered, "go on up to bed now, and I'll see if I can't find some sweetmeats or pastries and bring them by tomorrow."

"Thank you. You're kind."

"You're not the only one who thinks so," Aramis agreed, nudging him upright. "Come along. You can see Constance tomorrow."

" 'Kay," d'Artagnan mumbled, letting himself be led towards the dorms.

"Now tell me about d'Artagnan?" Constance said behind him. d'Artagnan glanced back to see the trapped look on Athos' face. Aramis was stifling laughter, and d'Artagnan followed the feel of it all the way to his room.

 

Treville had d'Artagnan help him with paperwork the next morning – six year old d'Artagnan's handwriting wasn't noticeably worse than several of the adult Musketeers – and sent him to market with Serge in the afternoon, but by the third day they were running out of ways to entertain him. d'Artagnan was fractious and grumpy, and though he didn't seem to be having any trouble yet Athos wasn't sure he'd be as skilled with his shields as usual.

"Take him to the palace and let Constance entertain him for a while," Aramis suggested.

"The boy's in love with her."

"She'll just think he's a cute six year old. No one takes anything children do seriously." He sighed. "Ah, the flowers I wasted before I figured that out."

"You were passing out flowers as a six year old?" Porthos repeated.

"There or thereabouts," he said with a shrug. "I'll take him, Athos. Constance did offer."

"She did offer," Athos agreed with a sigh. "Very well, go ahead."

d'Artagnan sulked all the way to the palace, barely cheering up even when Aramis pointed out they were going to meet Constance. "She won't know I'm _me,_ " he grumpily.

"That may be an advantage, my lad."

"Why?"

"Oh, just you wait." Aramis grinned, swinging down from the horse and holding out his arms to catch the boy.

Constance, it turned out, was in the gardens with the Queen, the Dauphin and a bevy of other ladies. She came to meet them, leaning down to shake d'Artagnan's hand solemnly. "Hello, Charles!"

" 'lo, Constance," he answered, kicking at the grass.

"We're a little out of sorts today," Aramis stage-whispered.

"So I see," she agreed. "Come with me, Charles, I'd like you to meet someone."

d'Artagnan followed her reluctantly, bowing when they stopped in front of the queen. "Your majesty," Constance said politely, "this is Charles. Aramis and the others rescued him from some bandits a couple of days ago and they're making arrangements to have him returned home. I told Aramis it would be all right for him to come here and run around a bit. The garrison's not really the place for it."

"It's certainly not," the queen agreed. "I hope you weren't injured by the bandits, Charles."

Charles spread his arms. "Just as you see me, your majesty."

"Are you from Gascony? You have that look."

d'Artagnan glanced at Aramis before nodding quickly. "Yes, your majesty. Is that the Dauphin? May I pay my respects?"

The queen laughed softly. "Certainly. Constance?"

"Yes, your majesty," Constance agreed, leading him away.

Anne caught Aramis' eye and he drifted a little closer. "d'Artagnan's from Gascony," she murmured. "The boy has more than a slight look of him."

For a moment Aramis didn't follow, and then he had to concentrate hard on not laughing. "Charles is no relation to d'Artagnan, your majesty," he said finally. "It's as Constance said. He is the victim of a bandit attack, and we are trying to restore him to his home."

"I see," Anne murmured. "Well, if there's anything I can do to help, please do let me know."

Aramis glanced over at d'Artagnan's giggle, watching him lean over the Dauphin's bassinet. "I will, your majesty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the story.WF was planning on doing NaNo, but it looks like she can't Because Reasons. She and I went through a bunch of those bingo cards prompt lists, picked all the prompts that sounded good, put them in a list and mixed it up. Pick a number between 1 and 177, tell us which of our various 'verses and/or fandoms you'd like, and we will do our best to write something for everyone. No promises, but we'll do our best!


	7. d'Artagnan, pt 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed answering comments last week! I promise I'm back on track this week.

d'Artagnan was starting to feel a bit foolish, jumping and running at imaginary enemies, but it made the ladies coo at him. He was thinking about going to find Aramis – he was hungry now – when he skidded unexpectedly on the path and landed hard on the gravel.

The pain in his knee and hip shocked him, and he stared blearily at his knee. Bright red blood was welling up around the bits of gravel embedded in his skin. d'Artagnan took a deep breath, opened his mouth to call to the nearest lady, and began to howl.

“Oh, dear!” Constance knelt beside him, radiating concern and sympathy. “That’s a nasty fall, Charles. Let me see.”

“I wa-hant Arami-his!” He couldn’t stop wailing, even though he was gasping for breath, all but choking on it. The child brain was firmly in control.

“He’s coming, love. I promise. Can I see it?”

“No no no don’t touch no!” He tried to back away, but that just hurt more, prompting a fresh wave of howls.

“All right,” Aramis said briskly, hunkering on his other side. “I thought someone was being killed over here. Calm down, Charles, you’re all right.”

“It hurts!” Charles gasped, going to rub his face. Constance intercepted his hand, giving him a handkerchief.

“Of course it hurts,” Aramis agreed. “That’s how you know something’s wrong. We’ll take care of it now. Constance, could I trouble you to send for some water? And – my pack is at the garrison. Is Professor Lemay in the palace?”

“I’ll send for him,” Constance promised, standing and waving to a page boy.

“Aramis, make it stop hurting,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“I will, Charles, but you know I can’t do that for very long. I’ll wait until Lemay gets here.”

“You could just fix it.”

“I can’t get the gravel out, not in time. I’m sorry.” He thumbed a tear from d'Artagnan’s cheek.

“It hurts so much,” d'Artagnan said mournfully.

“It’s supposed to. Children can’t take care of themselves like adults can, so the pain makes you call for attention. Every child does it.”

“I’m not a child,” he said half heartedly.

“Part of you is. But look, you’re stopping crying already.”

d'Artagnan sniffled, wiping his face again. “It hurts really bad.”

“I know. But here comes Lemay, look.”

d'Artagnan shifted, pressing against Aramis. “Make it stop hurting now?” he asked hopefully.

Aramis smiled faintly, gathering d'Artagnan into his arms and arranging him so the boy’s back was against his chest. “Remember to say ‘ow’,” he murmured, looking up as Dr Lemay and Constance joined them. “Professor Lemay.”

“Monsieur Aramis,” Lemay answered. “And this must be Charles. Had a fall, Charles?”

“I slipped,” d’Artagnan told him.

“I see. And where does it hurt?”

“In my knee and my hip.”

“His hip’s just bruised,” Aramis added, “but there’s gravel in his knee I haven’t the equipment to take out.”

“Luckily I am prepared, then.” Lemay smiled awkwardly at them before turning to his instrument bag.

Aramis gently turned d'Artagnan’s face into his chest. “Don’t watch,” he whispered, starting to block the pain as Lemay began his work.

 

Porthos looked up as Aramis rode back into the garrison, d'Artagnan nestled in front of him. “Looks like someone’s been in the wars,” he called to Athos, crossing to the horse. d'Artagnan reached down to him; Porthos caught him easily, carefully not reacting when the boy nestled against him, legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

“We had a little fall,” Aramis told him, dismounting tiredly.

“Not little,” d'Artagnan complained by rote.

“Sorry, d'Artagnan. We had a big fall. I had to get Lemay’s help, so d'Artagnan’s a little more – a bit more uncomfortable than he might be otherwise.”

“Lemay’s all right. Bit wet.” Porthos shifted d'Artagnan slightly. “You hungry, lad?” d'Artagnan shook his head silently, laying it on his shoulder. “All right, then.” He headed back to the table, sitting down and letting d'Artagnan cling to him.

“Anything lasting?” Athos asked as Aramis joined them.

“No. Bruise on his hip, some skin off his knee. Lemay had to dig some gravel out.” d'Artagnan twitched, burying his face in Porthos’ shoulder. “But he was very brave,” Aramis continued, “and he hardly cried at all. I know Constance was impressed.”

d'Artagnan mumbled something into Porthos’ neck. “What’s that, lad?”

“Gave me a handkerchief,” he said, just a little more loudly.

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

He lifted his head to look at Athos. “What did you tell her about me? I mean, big me?”

“Just that you’re on a mission and will return soon. Why?”

“She misses me,” he mumbled, lowering his head again.

“That’s definitely good,” Porthos agreed. “We can work on that when you’re bigger.”

Catching Porthos’ eye, Aramis asked about what had happened in the garrison while they were gone. Porthos obliged with a rambling report of the training sessions he’d been watching. d'Artagnan grew heavier and heavier in his arms and eventually fell asleep.

“Poor kid,” Porthos murmured, easing him into a better position to keep his neck from straining.

“How much longer, do you think?” Athos asked.

Aramis spread his hands. “Tomorrow, a week. There’s really no way to tell. But everything I know tells me this will resolve itself.”

“Let’s hope it’s sooner rather than later. He seems to be regressing the longer he stays this age.”

“All will be well,” Aramis insisted, but Porthos caught the worried look.

“I wonder how much of this he’ll remember,” Porthos mused, pretending not to have noticed anything.

“I’m sure we can fill in the blanks,” Aramis said brightly. “Come along; let’s get him to bed.”

“Good, my arm’s about to fall off.”

He waited until they were in d'Artagnan’s room to murmur “Aramis? He’ll come back?”

“Of course he will,” Aramis said firmly. “You go watch Athos tonight. I’ll sit with d'Artagnan.”

Porthos studied him for a moment before nodding. “All right. See you in the morning, then.”

 

d'Artagnan’s hip bruised shockingly bright colours. Aramis gave him a salve and supervised as he got most of it on his bed sheets and breeches. Some of it did make it onto the bruise, but not much.

The bruise made it hard for him to sit, stand, or move around. Aramis tried suggesting he stay in bed, but he didn’t really expect d'Artagnan to agree and he didn’t complain when the boy refused. It wouldn’t take long for him to reconsider.

It was actually well after lunch before he gave in; he’d been getting steadily more fractious all afternoon, and eventually Athos just swept him off his feet and took him upstairs. d'Artagnan shrieked all the way up. Aramis followed behind them, watching as d'Artagnan pounded Athos’ back and promised to never forgive him. Porthos stayed below to redirect those of the Musketeers showing too much interest in the scene.

Athos let d'Artagnan down onto his bed; d'Artagnan tried to scramble off and Athos blocked him. “No.”

“I want to go downstairs!” d'Artagnan shouted.

“No.”

He tried to get past him again; Athos picked him off his feet, just long enough to make his point, and put him back on the bed. “No. Lie down.”

“I hate you!”

“You may hold any opinion of me you like, but you’ll do it from this bed. You’re injured; you need to heal. Lie down.”

“No!”

Athos shrugged. “Very well. Sit up and be in pain, then. It’s all the same to me. But you’re not leaving this bed today.”

d'Artagnan’s eyes narrowed. “I have to piss.”

Athos pulled out the chamber pot without changing his expression, placing it on the bed. “Go ahead.”

d'Artagnan stared at the pot for a moment, fists clenched tightly. “I hate you.”

“So you’ve said. Do you want this?” Athos put the pot away without waiting for an answer.

d'Artagnan scrambled to his feet on the bed. “You’re a bully! I bet Thomas hated you too!”

Aramis sucked in a horrified breath, taking a step forward. Athos waved him back without looking at him. “I’ve no doubt he did, sometimes,” he agreed, voice even. “That didn’t really matter, so long as he was safe. That what was mattered; that he was safe and well. It matters now that you are safe and well, and if you hate me for making sure you are, so be it.”

d'Artagnan stared at him for a moment. He jumped forward abruptly, throwing himself against Athos hard enough to knock them both back a step. “I don’t hate you, I’m sorry sorry sorry, I don’t, I don’t.”

“It’s all right,” Athos said uncertainly, automatically holding d'Artagnan against himself. “I know you don’t.”

“My hip really hurts,” d'Artagnan said, bursting into tears and burying his face in Athos’ neck.

Athos looked helplessly at Aramis. “I know,” he said, edging back to the bed. He couldn’t quite figure out how to manoeuvre d'Artagnan so they could sit down, though. “That’s why I wanted you to come and lie down.”

Aramis finally took pity on him, helping him to sit without crushing any part of d'Artagnan. “I’ll get the salve,” he said, disappearing out of the room.

Athos sat, making ineffectual ‘ssssh’ noises while d'Artagnan cried quietly into his neck. “I suspect you’re going to be embarrassed about this one day soon,” he said softly. “I won’t be.”

Aramis returned with the salve; d'Artagnan refused to let go of Athos, and Aramis worked around him. “He’ll probably fall asleep,” he said quietly to Athos. “Just keep hold of him for now. You can put him down once he falls asleep.”

“Thank you, Aramis.”

It was a clear dismissal. Aramis left the salve on the windowsill in case they needed it again and closed the door on Athos still holding d'Artagnan tightly.


	8. d'Artagnan, pt 4

d'Artagnan drifted awake slowly, aware of Athos' presence long before he opened his eyes. "Morning."

"Morning. How do you feel?"

"How should I feel?" He started to sit up and bit off a curse at the unexpected pain in his hip. "Ow!"

"That answers that," Athos murmured. "Aramis left you some salve, although it might not be strong enough now."

"What happened?" d'Artagnan was staring in fascinated horror at the bruise on his hip and the scar on his knee. "These are a couple of days old."

"You don't remember?"

"No, I..." d'Artagnan shook his head, eyes closed. "No," he said tightly. "What happened?"

"Do you remember the bandits?"

"We were ambushed..."

"Yes. One of the bandits had an Ability. You saw him preparing to use it on me and got in the way."

"And it bruised my hip?"

"No. It made you a child. Six years old."

d'Artagnan stared at him, suddenly very cold. "Not possible."

"I was here. I saw you."

"No, not – gaah!" He doubled over as the pain in his head spiked hard.

"d'Artagnan!"

"Fine." He took a breath, another. "Ow."

"What happened?"

Athos was half a breath away from calling for help. d'Artagnan forced himself to straighten. "I remember, I think."

"You think?"

"It was fifteen years ago. So sort of? Images, mostly. I know I was in Lupiac then, but – did I fall down at the palace?"

"In the grounds, yes." Athos was relaxing again. "But that was two days ago."

"I suppose my brain thinks it was fifteen years. Didn't get rid of the injuries, though." He poked at the bruise with a sigh.

"You retained your adult memories."

"I remember, sort of. It's very confusing."

"I don't suppose it matters."

A thread of relief coloured Athos' words. d'Artagnan eyed him for a moment before deciding not to push. If it was important, Athos would tell him. "Help me up."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"It's just stiff. Moving around will help."

Athos helped him sit up, waited until the pain faded, and then got him on his feet. d'Artagnan lurched around the room for a couple of minutes before making for the door. Getting down the stairs was a special kind of interesting, and when he reached the table he had to lean awkwardly to keep the weight off his hip.

"Look who's back!" Porthos said cheerfully.

d'Artagnan blinked at him. "Did I _kick_ you?"

"He deserved it," Aramis assured him. "You remember, then."

"Sort of. It feels like fifteen years ago to me. It's all a little hazy."

"And do –“

"There you are!"

d'Artagnan turned, surprised. "Constance."

She smiled, coming to the table. "Her majesty has sent this message to Captain Treville," she told Athos, offering him an envelope.

"He's not in the garrison, but you have my word he will read it the moment he returns."

Constance smiled, turning back to d'Artagnan. "When did you get back?"

"Very late last night."

"And how did it go?"

He knew the others had told her _something_ about his absence, but he couldn't remember what. "Fine," he hazarded.

"You're leaning oddly, are you hurt?"

"Just saddle sore," he assured her quickly.

"I see." She glanced at the others, grinning before adopting a serious expression. "You should probably know, d'Artagnan, while you were gone, a younger man made advances on me."

d'Artagnan blinked for a moment, honestly unsure until he caught the amusement coming from the others. "Did he? Well, was he as handsome as me?"

"Oh, definitely."

"And as charming?"

"More so, I'd say," she agreed solemnly.

d'Artagnan reached for her hand, tugging gently until she stepped closer. "Did he love you like I do?" he murmured, too quietly for the others to hear.

"I don't think so," Constance answered, just as quietly. "But," she added more loudly, "he did run off with my handkerchief as a favour."

"Clearly I'm defeated. I withdraw gracefully."

She smiled, turning to Aramis. "Where is he?"

"Charles is safely back where he belongs, with his brothers," Aramis told her.

"You should've brought him to say goodbye."

"His leaving was rather unexpected. I know that he will continue to think of you."

"I'll just bet." She stepped away from the table, grinning at d'Artagnan again. "Good to see you back."

"Good to be back."

"I'll see you soon." She took a step backwards, still grinning. "After all, her majesty will need an answer to that letter."

d'Artagnan slumped slightly as soon as she was out of sight, waving off Aramis' concern. "I'm fine. Just sore."

Aramis nodded, sitting back down. "It's on the mend. You'll be feeling better very soon."

d'Artagnan nodded, glancing around the table at his brothers. "I'm already feeling better."


End file.
